Pretending
by McGonagall's Bola
Summary: The moment to be pretending had passed long between them. There were no more secrets now. HG/MM -REWRITTEN!


A smile flittered across her lips as she looked upon the newly unpacked gifts lying between the shards of wrapping paper on her bed. Ron's had contained a pair of nice earrings, Ginny's the necklace that perfectly matched. She supposed that Ginny might have had to help her brother choosing, especially given both of them had given her part of the set. It appeared to be real silver indeed, and she knew that the Weasleys despite each of them being good and kind, had little. She quietly touched her hand over the necklace, holding it. Harry's Christmas gift had contained a beautiful phoenix feather with a leather bound book – the first copy of _Hogwarts: A History_'s new edition, December 1998. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's had held a new knitted sweater and some of her delicious cooking as always. It never made her any unhappier even if the gift was nearly the same as last year and the ones prior, too – even when Harry, Ron and she had been on the run for Death Eaters and Catchers, Molly hadn't forgotten about them at Christmas time. There, of course, had been some delay on receiving their respective gifts. Her Mum and Dad's Christmas parcel hadn't gotten there quite yet, but she assumed that it possibly would later. The owls were very busy at times like these, of course.

Hermione had chosen to stay at Hogwarts deliberately, what with her being one of its first pupils in years having been offered an apprenticeship. The last known apprenticeship had been the one of the current headmistress to her former professor and later her best companion, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. Apprenticeships were surely not unheard of or secretive, it just didn't happen often that a pupil showed truly very exceptional talent, and theoretically and methodically, in one subject or more. Hermione Granger had been the first who Hogwarts had seen in many years. Filius Flitwick, the current deputy headmaster, had thought her capable of conducting her own research as his apprentice – it all cost a lot of time with extensive literature studies and experimenting if the subject allowed, of course... but Hermione's skills could not be doubted.

Most of the pupils, of course, had left last week at the end of the semester. Since staying offered her access to a well founded library any time of day and Flitwick, her mentor, though...

Hogwarts' Great Hall was quite close to abandoned now, she noted as she stepped in to get some food prior to delving into her research once more. The four House tables had been exchanged by one right in the middle of the hall, parallel to where the staff table stood. She could see the headmistress and her deputy sitting beside one another in what seemed to be serious conversation, and Professor Vector and to her own surprise Professor Trelawney as well a few seats further. At the end of the pupil table, some Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were gathered. She could hear them whisper faintly as she sat at the table and reached for a piece of baguette and the butter.

"She always looks so damn serious." – "I'm sure she has no idea how to smile." – "She's cold as a frog really." – "She's ugly as a frog as well!" The conversation between the girls was followed by laughter, as they all agreed to what the latter had just said – 'cold and ugly as a frog.'

Hermione's gaze quietly moved to the headmistress, seated at the head of the table. No doubt that their conversation had been about Minerva McGonagall. Professor Vector was a lively witch, in fact... and a great many of words surely could describe Sybill Trelawney: paranoid, crazy... but cold? No. Oh yes, she herself had noticed. She sighed, her hunger stilled suddenly.

She stood, once more... she still had a lot of research left to conduct in order to make a founded literature review. She would take Molly's large bag of cookies with to the library in case she should feel hungrier again. Madam Pince would not make a fuss about it, she knew. She never really did.

"Miss Granger, how's your research coming along?" Halting at the foot of the old staircase, Hermione looked over her shoulder at the Gryffindor headmistress who neared her with her usual hurried footsteps. "You've seemed so very busy of late," she added, "and serious," walking to where her younger charge stood.

Hermione quietly raised one eyebrow, crossing her arms over her bosom. "I'm fine," she said.

Minerva's eyebrow quirked, too. "Are you? Are you not taking on–?"

"I'm fine, Professor McGonagall."

As she smiled politely, moving to continue on her way to the common room again to gather a couple of essentials then retreat in the library. However, surprisingly warm fingers stilled her. As Hermione turned to face the older woman once more, tears welled in her eyes. Minerva McGonagall had always been her heroine, to one she looked at with greater respect than anyone ever had or ever would be receiving from her. "Isn't it all very ironic now?" she whispered. "Frigid is what you're being called – entirely incapable of feeling the emotion of..." Hermione's voice broke at that word, "love. You're always composed and professional, honest, correct, rule-abiding." She could see the shock in Minerva's eyes as she recounted what she had heard over the months of the semester after the war. Prior to the war, Minerva McGonagall had often enough been considered for having no heart, but ever since the final battle... It wasn't something that Hermione could easily bear to hear.

Taking hold of the younger witch's hand, Minerva quietly urged them to a hidden room behind the old staircase, where there was a less likely chance of getting caught mid-fight or whatever was to follow. The voice of the young woman was much higher than usual, her tone unlike how Minerva knew her – this both alarmed and worried her.

Once the door closed behind the room reminding of the staff room, Minerva slowly released the younger woman's hand and eyed her. "Miss Granger, what by Merlin's going on with you?"

Tears pooled into amber eyes, as all suddenly came crashing down upon her: her fascination with Minerva McGonagall since the day she came to deliver her Hogwarts acceptance letter, her infatuation with her since fourth year and having had the joy to witness her with graying ebony hair down... her worry for Minerva McGonagall at the loss of Albus Dumbledore, the man who had always seemed to be her everything and anything... her worry for Minerva while on the run and especially upon returning to Hogwarts and seeing the obvious weight loss, bruises under her eyes from lack of peace lately... "I've seen you," she said, voice hoarse. "I've seen you right after Professor Dumbledore's death, and at his funeral... I've seen you in the heat of the battle in the Great Hall and at the funerals held later. I've remembered."

Minerva's face suddenly grew weary, for one having no idea where the younger witch wanted to go... yet at the same time knowing all too well. A wave of her hand invited Hermione to sit as she did. Hermione's head shook, hand reaching up to wipe at her eyes quite possibly filled with tears. The nasal tone of her voice gave her away very easily.

"Others don't, but I know that it is just a façade – because I've seen it... _cracked_ on a handful of occasions. I've seen the forlorn look swimming in your eyes on an unguarded moment when you believe no one is watching. I don't know why, but I do see... and it scares me most of all. It scares me to see the look of... resignation in your eyes so often lately, as if you've – you've..."

Minerva stood, reaching for her charge. "Miss Granger..."

"No!" she spoke, batting the headmistress' hands away. Tears streamed down over her cheeks. "I have loved and lost in this war just like everyone else, but... Ron's coping with Fred's death... and Harry, oh Harry – he's lost basically everyone he held dear, and still he's going on... Everyone seems to be doing okay. Everyone seems to be–"

"Miss Granger," Minerva whispered, carefully taking the younger witch's hand – which she seemed to allow even if just for a moment. "You're saying it quite right. Everyone _seems_ to be doing okay – that doesn't necessarily mean they are, in fact, okay."

"I know," Hermione whimpered. "I see it every time I look over at you. I would like to just move on as well, but it doesn't seem like I can. You can't, either." Hazel connected with teal green. "He wanted us to be unloved and insecure. I don't want to let him win, but... how can I move on, when even you cannot? I've never known anyone any braver than you or any more rational."

"I'm only brave to the extent of weakness I show. In fact, I'm not brave at all, Hermione," she said, reaching to tuck a lock of stray hair behind the younger witch's left ear. "I'm not brave at all. I'm just really good at pretending – though it seems you easily see through it."

"Of course I do," Hermione admitted. "I've watched you from afar for many years..."

Minerva's heartbeat increased upon hearing those words. Of course, she had seen the unusual interest, her ever observant nature never failing her. It did not come as a shock, yet she was nowhere ready to deal with it. She had hoped to never have to do so. However, war had this funny little way to make one realize what was truly important. Oh, she herself had realized, all right. She chose to just avoid the subject for now. "I'll be fine. However, I'm old and I'm tired, and I need time. Maybe you need some more time to find yourself once again as well, and that is okay."

Hermione quietly reached for the elder woman's hand, laying it across her beating heart, looking at her former professor with clear hazel eyes. She had barely seen the woman at all since the battle, given how busy she must have been in order to get Hogwarts running again. Hermione still didn't know how she had done it. "I love you," she whispered, head shaking upon realizing herself how ridiculous and childish it must sound. "I know what you're going to say now, but I love you. I'm not mistaking this for sickly admiration, and I don't care that you're a woman and a bit older, nor that you've taught me. I can't choose who I fall in love with. I love others for who they are. It happens to be you..."

Minerva was right at a loss for sensible words, seeing the pain reflected in hazel eyes... opening to a pure, innocent soul that was not hers to possess. No single hope shone in them, no expectations. She had told her mother the same when she came home with her first girl. 'I love others for who they are, nothing else.' "You'll be fine," Minerva whispered, "and you'll one day make a man or woman very happy, and I'll hope that you'll be happy with them in return. Once you have healed, there's time for all that still."

Then she made a very crucial mistake. Hermione looked into teal green, losing herself in her eyes. She had never quite seen them so clear, so honest... With a sigh of contained despair, she fell into the headmistress' warm arms. "I want you… I love you so much," she whispered once more, reddish lips touching thin pink ones in a kiss that was barely a touch... yet left both of them panting heavily, as if a load had fallen off their shoulders. There were no more secrets now. Everything had been laid bare between them.

She didn't know where it would lead them, but as she returned Hermione's embrace, Minerva McGonagall instinctively knew, that now was not the moment to be pretending. It had long passed between them. "I love you, too..."


End file.
